The Beauty of Broken Things

These stories are copyright of Lisa X Lopez

Description

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but a single picture can be worth a life. On the fog-cloaked banks of the East River, Kelso snaps a photo of a lone girl and her three-legged dog, never imagining the incredible chain of events that he'll set in motion. What follows is a dance of cagey mistrust and, ultimately, a life-altering friendship.

Fleeing from a traumatic and mysterious past, Tessa is surviving on the streets of New York City, accompanied by her faithful but crippled pet dog, Pickles. Driven by intense curiosity and a desire for somewhere to belong, she rises above exploitation, hunger, and a harsh life on the cold streets.

These three lives, strangely and remarkably intertwined, will find the healing power of unexpected friendship and learn that there is beauty to be found in broken things.

Author's Note: While this story does contain some sexy scenes, I find it difficult to fully classify. It is erotica, but more a work of fiction that contains some graphic scenes. The sex isn't necessarily written for titillation, but rather as a way to explore Tessa's state of mind and hint at the dark and tragic past that's caused her trauma. I hope you'll forgive me for that, and see this story for what it is: an exploration of things that are rarely discussed but necessary to confront. It is, also, a statement on the healing power that friendships can have.

Chapter One: The Beauty of Broken Things

Kelso paused for the shot, because it was perfect. It was not the bridge over the river, cloaked in a rolling autumn fog, and it was not the distant, hazy forms of the buildings, gray against a grayer morning sky. It was not the dark waters of the river itself, lapping along endlessly in their dance, or even the fog-cloaked hulk of the East River Ferry, in the distance that made the image.

The perfection of the shot was the girl and the dog. The moment when the sunlight of the late fall broke through the gray clouds to illuminate her, a single ray, on the form of the girl. The one ray of light hit her sidelong, at just the angle to cast her shadow long across the broken concrete as she looked out on the water. It was what the image said of the universe, the shadow and the girl's gaze, for just that moment, perfect companions, sympathetic.

The shadow stretched long and away, even as the girl looked out across the water, long and away, lost in whatever contemplation a girl accompanied by a three-legged mutt contemplated on such a morning. Kelso captured the shadow and the light, the dog on its two good hind legs, likewise observing the stretch of the waters and the distant towers. He captured the profile of the girl, an almost palpable look of sadness and longing in her dark eyes. It was perfect.

Kelso knew from long experience that the perfect shot, truly perfect, rarely came by chance. There were good shots, even great shots, but the perfect shot happened often by design rather than happenstance. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd been presented with it at just the moment when his camera was at the ready, and the undeniable feeling of rightness at those moments was one that he thought was akin to glimpsing the inner workings of the universe itself.

An image was a suspended moment of infinity, something unique, that in all the wheeling billions of years that composed the past, present, and future, would never happen again. When he was able to capture it, to freeze it, to pass that moment on to the rest of humanity, that was when he felt purpose most of all.

That perfect second passed. The clouds moved again, drifting lazy through the sky, unconcerned for the goings on far below. The single ray was swallowed up, vanished, the colorful form of the girl muted with its passing, and Kelso felt the entire world was just a bit sadder for it. The girl turned at the click of the shutter, the dog swiveling with her. For a moment she looked across at him, standing in his trench coat, camera in his hand.

All the loneliness of an unkind and uncaring reality informed her person, wrapped as tightly about her as the dingy and ripped red puffer coat she wore against the chill. She flipped him the bird and scampered away in the opposite direction with the mangy little dog hopping along behind.

Kelso sighed and watched her round a bend, disappearing into the fog as though she'd been a dream. He had his moment, though. Content with that, he strolled on himself, thinking about the girl, the dog, building his imagined story of her circumstance in the bigger tapestry of things. The cogs of his imagination turned, placing her and her companion among all the rest of the bits that floated along in the sea of time, two broken things, just like all the rest, but no less beautiful for their flaws.

Chapter Two: Underthing

Tessa liked the river for many reasons, only one of which was the smell. The river didn't smell dirty, like most of the city, and it certainly didn't smell as bad as the Underthing. There'd been a time that the hot, wet, cloying scent of the place had repulsed her, but that had been long ago. She'd gotten used to the smell, though, and now it didn't reek of disgusting things so much as it did of home. Because it was.

The way into the Underthing wasn't an easy one. Combined with the smell it was a deterrent to everyone else but the waif of a girl, who could lift the broken edge of the mesh covering the pipe and wiggle inside. One of her lucky finds, a little pen light, lit her way through the twists and turns of the place, until she emerged into a small pocket of warmth. Gathered about the place were the collected bits of a street girl, those tiny treasures that she'd happened upon and found value in.

A sleeping bag with a tear in the side, mended with a strip of duct tape. This, not so much a treasure as a necessity. A bucket with a broken handle, again a necessity for her necessaries, but easy to carry, dump, and wash under the leaking pipe just two turns and one bend away from her refuge. The real treasures were safe in a small, wooden chest that was missing one handle and a hinge, but still closed nicely to keep the damp out. It hadn't been an easy thing to force it through the mesh grate, but Tessa refused to let it go. She'd managed it.

Inside the chest was a backpack, canvas and army green, with a drawstring closure. Inside the bag she kept spare clothes, half of the package of batteries for the pen light, and The Gift. The Gift was the most precious thing of all, a thing she'd earned on a chance errand from Alan, the old guy at Tales & Treasures, who despite being blind seemed to have read every book that had ever been written, half of which he sold in his shop. It was the cover that had drawn Tessa to it initially, but she'd since come to love the story, too.

On the cover of The Gift were raised letters, stylized, and a faded image of a girl in a yellow gown dancing with a monster of a man. The book was called Beauty and the Beast and Tessa was hardly without it. The story told of a wealthy merchant who fell on hard times. One of his three daughters, named Beauty, is a lover of books, kind and sweet. She is a contrast to her sisters. Through further misfortunes, Beauty finds herself in the castle of a frightening beast, who she learns to love for his inner self, rather than his monstrous appearance. Beauty is able to break the curse on the Beast and they live in happiness.

Tessa did not imagine herself as Beauty when she read the story. Rather, she imagined one day meeting someone else that understood what it was to have scars, to have someone that saw that the scars were not her. She took out The Gift and prepared to settle down on the sleeping bag to read it once again, but today she stopped. Today, she decided, she wouldn't read the book in the darkness by the little light of the penlight. Today she'd cross the bridge and read the book in the daylight.

***

Chapter Three: Park Trouble

City Hall Park in the late morning was one of Tessa's favorite spots to stop. She liked to sit on the edge of the fountain, something about the hiss of its waters strangely out of place in the little pocket of nature amongst the concrete. The vibrant greenspace between Broadway and Park Row could draw a lunchtime crowd, but at this hour it was not quite there. A few people passed by as she sat on the fountain, paying her little mind. Not much of anyone paid mind to another dirty girl.

Pickles gave a hungry bark as he sat back on his two good legs, looking up at her expectantly. Tessa rooted through the backpack for the small bag of treats, another recent, lucky find, eyed how many were left, then tossed one to the dog. He caught it and wolfed it down, then looked for another.

"No more. We need to save them," Tessa said and tucked the bag away.

Pickles whined, but laid down by the fountain, while Tessa pulled the book from the bag. No matter where she stopped in the book, she always started from the beginning. She could recite each page from memory, but a story should always unfold from its root, she thought, or it just kind of lost something. The magic was in the telling and the telling started on the first page.

The fountain hissed and Tessa read, legs folded, her head down. Pickles sniffed about the ground for something to eat, occasionally pausing to give a passerby a pleading look, though no further treats were forthcoming. The minutes passed as did the people, the numbers of them slowly increasing as Tessa turned the pages.

A shadow fell over the book, breaking the spell, and when Tessa looked up she froze. The boy had a gap in his teeth, below a crooked nose that Tessa was sure had been broken at some point. He wore a faded Yankees cap and his remaining teeth were yellowed from smoking, as he was now. Behind him stood another boy. Pickles hobbled back toward her, growling.

"Whatcha got for me today, Stinky?" the boy said, flipping his cigarette butt away.

His friend kicked at Pickles, who danced away nimbly on his three legs and continued to growl. Tessa snapped the book shut and grabbed her bag.

"Nothing," she said, quickly, "I don't have anything. You know I don't."

She leapt from the fountain and made to run, but the gap-toothed boy snagged the book from her and looked at it.

"This is something," he said.

"Give it back!" Tessa cried, reaching for the book, but he gave her a swat across the cheek and watched her reel back, stunned.

"Fuckin' junk. All you ever got is junk," he said, and casually tossed the book into the fountain.

"No!" Tessa shrieked in horror, nearly throwing herself into the fountain after it, but the boy grabbed the backpack attached to her shoulder and yanked her back.

The backpack came free as she fell to the ground, and then Pickles barked and made a dive for the leg of the boy's companion. He kicked at the dog, who leapt back, lunged again, and then the two of them began a frustrating dance as the gap-toothed bully dumped the contents of the backpack on the grass. He kicked at them, saw nothing of interest, and then tossed the empty canvas sack into the fountain as well. He turned his ire on the sobbing Tessa and pulled back a leg, preparing for a kick.

"Hey! Fuck off!" came a shout from just behind, and a man in a trench coat came rushing forward.

The gap-toothed boy wheeled on the man saying, "This ain't your concern, old man. Fuck off yerself."

The man stopped, opened his coat and showed the boy a holstered pistol. The two boys took off running into the trees, Pickles growling and barking at their retreating forms. Tessa clamored to her feet, tears streaming and looked into the fountain. The book floated in the water, destroyed, a few of the old pages floating lazily around it. The backpack lay half off the edge of the fountain, partially in the water.

Tessa yanked the pack free and began collecting her meager belongings, shoving them into the wet pack. Pickles held the small bag of treats in his mouth, wagging his stubby tail. The man knelt.

"Here, let me help," he said and reached for some of the things.

"No!" Tessa snapped and smacked his hand away from a threadbare, pink sweater.

She snatched it up and wiped at her face with it, then shoved it into the pack. She gave the ground another once over, wiped her nose on the sleeve of the puffer coat, and then turned back to the fountain. The man joined her.

"I'm sorry," he said, "about your book."

The girl didn't say anything as the soaking manuscript curled and sunk into the water. Wordlessly, she shouldered the wet backpack and began to walk away.

"Hey," the man called back, "wait."

Tessa did not wait. The man trailed after her and took up stride next to her.

"Are you alright?" he asked, "Did they hurt you?"

The girl shook her head and continued walking with the dog hopping along behind.

"My name's Kelso," he said, putting his hand out as they walked.

Tessa didn't take it.

Seemingly unphased the man continued, "Can I... I don't know... are you hungry? I was about to walk over to Berto's for some lunch. Do you want something? You and the dog?"

"Pickles," she said.

"Pickles? You want pickles?"

"His name is Pickles," the girl said, "And I don't take food from perverts."

"Um, perverts? I didn't think I made that kind of impression," Kelso said, chuckling.

"I saw you this morning," she said, "Taking my picture. Perverts in trench coats take pictures of girls to jerk off to later."

Kelso blinked and said, "Oh. It... it wasn't like that. Sorry. I'm a photographer."

He held up the camera on his neck.

"Yeah," Tessa said, "That takes pictures of girls to jerk off to later."

"Sorry," Kelso said again, "It really wasn't... like that. It was just the scene. Can we... maybe start again?"

Tessa shrugged, paused, picked up a quarter, pocketed it, and resumed walking.

"Really," Kelso continued, "I'd just like to get you some lunch. You don't have to eat with me or anything. Just, you know, let me do something nice. Those guys were real dicks."

Tessa sighed, but it was hard to turn down a free lunch, especially with Pickles carrying the little bag of treats. She could have something to share with the dog later.

"Alright," she agreed, "but no pictures."

Kelso nodded.

"Not Berto's either," she added, "They won't let Pickles in. Harry Lain's?"

Kelso nodded again and they resumed walking, pausing at the crosswalk at Broadway and then hurrying across to continue down Barclay. Passing the Woolworth Building and dodging through people on the street, Kelso tried to make conversation.

"What was the book?" he asked.

Tessa's shoulders slumped and she shook her head saying, "It doesn't matter. It's gone."

"Do you have a name?" Kelso asked.

"Yup."

"Will you tell me your name?" he implored.

"Nope."

Confounded, Kelso stayed quiet as they passed by Thirty Park Place and emerged at the intersection with Church, where they waited again. They crossed and banked down Church to Fulton, then turned again and made for the corner of Greenwich. Here, across from Ground Zero, Kelso pushed open the door of Harry Lain's. The corner cafe was doing good business, and Kelso waited with the girl, saying nothing. The dog, Pickles, went practically unnoticed, sitting on his haunches next to her, sniffing the air hungrily.

The girl ordered freely, apparently taking the offer of lunch to stock up for the winter. Kelso didn't mind. He ordered significantly less for himself and they waited again, then took their food and sat at a high corner table. Pickles sat looking up at the girl, who broke off half of her sandwich and gave it to the dog before beginning to eat. Kelso felt slightly heartened by the gesture. He resisted the urge to take a photo.

Kelso tucked into his own sandwich, surreptitiously eyeing the girl over as they ate in silence. Now that he could see her up close, he was struck by her. When he'd taken her picture he'd noted that she was pretty. You couldn't miss it, even under the streak of dirt, the smell of her coat, and the wear of life on the street. This close, though, she wasn't just pretty. He peeled back the scruff and imagined her with clean hair, taken care of and washed. She could have been downright gorgeous.

The hair was a bit matted and tangled, but it had the full body and natural curls that some women would kill for. Her face was thin, as would be expected from someone who probably ate less in a week than he did in a day. He guessed her no more than nineteen. Her caramel eyes, which flicked up to look back at him, looked almost golden and they were strikingly deep.

"You're perving again," she said around a mouthful.

"No," he said, "Just trying to figure you out. It's kind of a thing I do."

He shrugged.

"You try to figure out what people look like naked?" she asked.

"What? No," he shot back, "I try to figure out their stories. I take photos and I write stories, articles. It's like a mental exercise, trying to piece someone's past together from an image, build their story."

"Whatever. No one gets to see me naked for free," she said with a slight smirk.

Was that humor? Kelso thought he might have pegged her wrong.

"Yeah, me either," he said.

Surprisingly, she laughed, and it was musical. He watched her take the other two wrapped sandwiches and tuck them into her pack, then sling it onto her shoulder as she dismounted the stool. She started to walk away. Kelso choked down what was in his mouth.

"Hey," he said, "Where are you going?"

She didn't turn to reply, only kept walking, reached the door, and walked out, only holding it long enough for the dog to follow. Kelso shook his head.

Chapter Four: Some Work

Tessa knocked on the apartment door in the late afternoon and waited. A moment later it was opened by a woman in a pink tank top, her braless breasts sagging and her honey hair pulled back into a ponytail.

"Hey, kitten," she said kindly, "Ain't seen you in a bit. You looking for some work?"

"Maybe one or two," Tessa said.

"Come on in," the woman said, holding open the door, "I got a couple coming through in a bit."

Tessa stepped inside, Pickles following behind.

"Phew, girl," the woman said, "You definitely need to clean up. Go use the shower and I'll get somethin' for Pickles."

"Thanks," Tessa said.

"Leave that coat, too, and the rest of it. Jesus, but they need a wash."

Tessa blushed and pulled off the coat, then the rest of her clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. She spent some time in the shower, washing away the grime and luxuriating in the heat. She kept it brief, though, knowing Eileen's hot water was limited. She wrapped herself in a towel, wrapped another around her hair, and went back out to the main room. Pickle's lay next to the couch, where Eileen sat watching TV.

She stood up as Tessa came out and took up a robe from the couch, offering it. Tessa took it, dropped the towel as Eileen whistled, and quickly put on the robe. Eileen held up a hairbrush and nodded toward the couch. Tessa sat, agitated her hair with the towel, and then set it aside and allowed the older woman to brush her hair.

"I say it every fuckin' time, honey," the woman said, "You shouldn't be here. I like the company, but you should be on a goddamn magazine, not in some shithole like this."

Tessa just shrugged and allowed Eileen to brush her hair.

"Jake's been asking about you," Eileen said.

"Jake?"

"The one always wears the gray hat. A bit pudgy," Eileen answered.

"Oh."

"Said he'd pay double to have you again."

"Doesn't matter," Tessa said, "I just need a little bit to get something for Pickles. Maybe a better coat, too."

Eileen laughed and said, "Yeah, that piece of shit's about to fall apart. I got one in the closet that Liddy grew out of, but I don't know it it'd close over your rack."